Disclaimer: I own neither the Harry Potter characters nor the song "Same Old Lang Syne," by Dan Fogelberg. This story doesn't follow his theme exactly, but it's close enough. Nothing is being made from this.
A/N - I know according to some I should be taking the time to explain right now why a kitten is joining the family in "Playmate," but this plot pitbull nipped me on my fat ass and refused to let go. This is rather melancholy. Due to her love of angst, I'm dedicating it to Slytherin Gurrl, who reads my stuff even when it's silly, and any other fans of sad pieces. As stated in the index, this piece contains a non-graphic character death.
Here's a link to the song: watch?v=cmVXYOJzAJM
Yet another New Year's Eve, Draco sighed to himself, bringing with it the annual obligatory, ostentatious attention-seeking ball at Malfoy Manor. All of the 'right' people had been invited, and Narcissa had managed to accidentally allow access to a Prophet Society page reporter to ensure the fete would make tomorrow's paper. Draco knew both his mother and his wife, Astoria, lived for these occasions, but honestly, if he had to attend another boring gala anytime soon he swore he'd hex the entire room, changing his shallow, duplicitous guests into the peacocks they figuratively were. He had briefly considered Avada-ing himself in the centre of the ballroom, but why should he suffer for everyone else's worthlessness?
Gods, he was sick of them. When he thought about it, he was displeased with everything in his life, barring his 13 year-old son, Scorpius. The Malfoy heir had followed the rules and met the expectations set for him by his family, and what did he have to show for it? He was 35 years old, and felt 60. Draco's relationship with his parents was polite but strained, and he could never shake the feeling that it would only take moments for him to be replaced or forgotten. Aside from Blaise and Theo, he had no one with whom he cared to speak. His position at Malfoy Industries bored him worse than Binns' class had at Hogwarts.
Hogwarts...shouldn't think of that. Remembering the castle always led to thoughts of her, and how his life had turned to shite the day he'd let her go. They were in their second year of Uni, and his parents had been breathing down his neck to find a proper Pureblood brood mare and propose. When he'd told her, the blond had expected his girlfriend of a year to argue. After all, wasn't she the brave best friend of Harry Potter, always on the front lines? Hadn't she been the poster child of defending one's beliefs? Didn't she always take the underdog's side? Didn't the self-righteous bitch care enough to fight for him? Draco remembered how he'd railed at her as she recoiled, watching him with pity-filled dark eyes.
He shook himself slightly at the memory before returning to proper Malfoy stoicism.
Not caring what the intruders (guests, same difference) of tonight's gathering thought, he dropped a light, cold kiss on his wife's cheek.
"I need some air. I promise to return soon, darling." His grey eyes were glacial as he awaited his spouse's response.
"I understand," she knew how to play her part of loving wife to the hilt. "Do try not to stay out too late, and do be careful." This was marital code for 'kindly return at least semi-sober.'
He nodded curtly and grabbed a cloak, covering his trademark platinum hair with the hood, and escaped into the English winter. Apparating to Muggle London landed him in the middle of a snowstorm. The weather was unfortunate, but at least he had reasonable expectation of going unrecognized away from the magical world.
Naturally, his brain continued its earlier train of thought. Pity, he spat to himself as he walked faster. Fucking pity. Granger knew he didn't do that, and disguising it as sympathy or concern made no difference. He tried to jam his hands in his pockets in order to have a proper sulk, only to be reminded his dress robes had no such accoutrements.
It could have been a block or a mile; in that kind of snowstorm certainty was impossible. Yellow light flowed across his cloak, drawing his attention to a small convenience store with its "OPEN" sign flashing. The only things Draco required at that moment were shelter and heat, but if he bought a pack of fags he was sure the owner wouldn't mind him staying a few minutes.
He pushed open the door and small bells tinkled, announcing his presence. He nodded to the shopkeep, who responded before resuming his perusal of the latest adult magazine. Malfoy wandered the aisles to buy extra time. His hands had gone numb outside and he dreaded the pins-and-needles sensation he knew was coming.
Rounding a corner at the back of the store, he spied what was probably a petite brunette; she was wrapped in so many layers it was hard to be sure, until he took a closer look.
Same chocolate curls, same hideous hat (a present from the Weasel's mother). He snuck a few inches closer to observe her features, taking in the retrousse nose and high cheekbones. There was no mistaking it; the love of his life was perusing the limited ice cream section as though her sanity hung in the balance.
Draco shifted uncomfortably as he worked to approach her. In the end, he tapped lightly on her right shoulder, making sure he was actually to her left. It was juvenile, but it had always made her smile in the past.
Hermione jumped as she looked to her right, then gasped and retreated as she noticed the tall, hooded figure before her. The years had not dulled her reflexes; her wand was at his throat in less than a second.
"Granger! Hermione! It's- It's me," Malfoy slowly lifted his hands to his cowl, exposing his face.
"DRACO? Oh my God! What are you doing here? It's been ages!" In her enthusiasm to hug him in greeting, Hermione dropped a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and her purse. Malfoy learned she was still in the habit of using an Extendable Charm as two dolls and a lacrosse stick rolled out of her bag. This struck both of them as inordinately funny as he helped her put everything back. He handed her the ice cream as they stood again.
"So, what brings you to Mug - this area?" Her eyes sparkled and he couldn't help but to grin.
"Annual New Year's Eve Ball. I figured I needed to get away after I realized I refused to be responsible for my actions if I stayed."
"Really? I've heard Azkaban's nice this time of year."
"Sarcastic bitch." He shot her his best mock-glare.
She gave a Gallic shrug, and it reminded him that she'd married a French wizard she met through that half-Veela who married into the ginger zoo. Malfoy stared into space as he enjoyed a brief fantasy involving a guillotine and the wizard who'd taken his place, only stopping when Granger (Granger-what?) spoke again.
"It was good to see you, Draco. I've got to get back to my folks'. We're staying with them for the holidays this year." She gave him a warm look and turned to leave.
Damn pity and double-damn pride. He gently grabbed her coat sleeve. "Can't we get a drink? Maybe catch up a bit? It's been years since I've seen you, and I could really use a friend right now." He put just a touch of pleading into his expression.
"Oh, Draco..." she wavered, and he knew he had her. It was funny how he'd grown to love that bleeding heart after hating it for so many years.
Hermione pondered for a moment before offering, "There's nothing open pub-wise, but we could get some ale here, and drink it in my dad's car. I borrowed it to come here. It's not up to your usual standard, but it can provide shelter and heat,"
"Good enough." He grabbed a six-pack of what they both used to drink, and followed her to the register. The clerk eyed them closely but neither cared.
Malfoy followed his ex-girlfriend to a four-door silver sedan, sliding into the passenger seat as she started the ignition.
"Where to?" Now that they were alone, he could see unease settling into her features.
"You're the Muggleborn. You tell me." He smirked, she laughed and it was almost like old times, if one squinted.
She drove them to a deserted parking lot nearby, and he opened two bottles, handing one over.
"To then," he toasted, grey eyes pinning her to seat.
"And now," she responded. Each drank deeply.
An uncomfortable silence descended as each mentally ran through potential topics, discarding them for one reason or another. Draco finally took the plunge.
"I heard you married. Does he make you happy?" As happy as I made you?
"Yes, I married Stefan 12 years ago. He's a good man. We have four children," she took another pull on her beer.
"A good man? Well, that's something. Do you love him?" Malfoy leaned closer.
"Of course I care for him," she responded in a prissy tone. "We've built a life together. He's a wonderful provider and father."
"Not what I asked."
She turned away to face the windshield. "Are you happy with Astoria? Do you love her?"
"Astoria has performed her duties well. She's flawless in our customs, and a decent mother."
"Not what I asked."
He looked out the window.
"You still look good, Granger."
She snorted. "After four children? Whatever, Malfoy. I see the years have been kind to you, though."
Draco turned back to face Hermione, "Kind? Did you not notice what the years have done to my hairline?"
"Life is about more than your hairline, Malfoy," she snickered.
"Says you. Every morning when I get up, I count how many hairs I've lost since the previous night."
She chuckled, putting her face in her hand, "If anyone else said that, I'd take it as a joke. In your case, aren't you too busy running the world to count missing hairs?"
"Invented a spell. Magic's dead handy. You should try it sometime."
"Arsehole. Hand me another beer." He opened two.
"So."
"So."
"I've, erm, I've missed you. I mean, really missed you, Granger. Life has-"
"Don't," she cut in. "Just don't. You made your decisions, I made mine. We've both built lives, Malfoy."
"Yes, but are you happy?"
"Most days, I suppose. I guess it's enough."
"But-"
"Draco, I really need to get back. I won't have this conversation. It won't do anyone any good."
His shoulders slumped and he nodded. He picked up the empties, putting them back into the carrier. "You done with that?"
She chugged the last bit, and handed the bottle back. "It really was good to see you, Draco."
The blond leaned in slowly and kissed her lips, tasting the beer. Her response was tentative and gentle, and for the first time in years, everything felt right. She pulled back and gave him a sad smile as he exited the auto.
"Always, Granger. Always."
"I know." And the car pulled away. He looked up at the sky as the snow began to turn to sleet.
She never saw the patch of black ice on her way home.